Albufeira, Portugal

Through my parents, I had heard of this magical place in Portugal where you can dive right into the ocean because the water is so warm. Where you don't have to wade in the surf joint by joint to lower your body temperature so that when you eventually go under, you don't scream, causing your own death by drowning. Seeing goosebumps catalyze the hair growth on my I-just-shaved-last-night legs, I figured their stories were more nostalgia. We arrived in Portugal in the middle of a heat wave and I was sitting on the beach shivering after a few swims; contemplating my degree of faith, burqa and all. But when we stepped on the beach in Albufeira and I screamed because the sand was blistering hot -- I thanked god for my heathen ways.

Nazaré, Portugal

When you've hiked in a rainless rainforest and rode through the rain in the desert, "truths" that have anything to do with nature are filtered through salt in your mind. Declarations like, "It's always sunny there!" are purified of hidden fallacies: "What you really mean is, 'It's usually sunny there.'" "If you're going to be all technical about it...yeah." Yes, I am going to be technical. Down to the exact foot. I wanted to know how high the waves rose in Nazaré.

"30 meters!!"
"Umm..Imma Amurican."
"About a hundred feet!"
"Holy shit?! I can't wait!!"

"Wow..."
"Is this the right beach??"
"It is...I've never seen the ocean this calm here..."

ANGLE ON: American slapping her forehead.

So explains this picture of a picture of a 100-foot wave...

Fátima, Portugal

"Unlimited mimosas*!" This phrase, exclamation and all, implies much about our current state of affairs. How can a drink which includes champagne be poured in unlimited quantities? And why would you want to drink it all day Sunday when you and I probably have to work on Monday? I'm not religious, nor ever have been; still, it makes one question if we need collective restraint and reverence in our lives again. 

In certain parts of the world (hell, even south of the Mason-Dixon line here in the U.S.), Sundays are not an extension of Friday and Saturday night's debauchery, they're reserved for the big man upstairs. Or, if you live in Fátima, the woman who gave birth to his proclaimed son. 

Obidos, Portugal

The simplicity and effectiveness of a wall is pure genius. Whoever decided to stack rocks together to build this thing that separates -- wow*. People go on and on about fire and the wheel, "Man's greatest inventions!" Yeah, I get it. But shouldn't we pay equal respects to the man who said, "Me no like you. Me going to build so me no see you."

During a particularly hellish week at work, an address with an open "office" plan, how I pined for three walls of yes, a cubicle. (Cube farms have their merits, and socialist ones at that.) To me, it makes perfect sense why people are often besotted by crenellated towns. Like warmth and movement, our need to define personal space is primal. Plus, it's just a lot of fun walking on a wall...la dee la.

Lisbon, Portugal

I feel bad for sales people. I am, what's known in sales, The Worst Customer.  I hem and haw, I analyze to death, I look around. They have no way of knowing this so I listen. Yesterday, a woman tried to sell me glass tiles with a ceramic tromp l'oeil effect which were wired to do some Back to the Future II shit. Tap once, a digital screen emerges to control the thermostat. Tap again, and it becomes a stop-watch. The perfect feature when you want to time how fast it takes for your living room to cool down. "We want to dissolve the need for electric fixtures in a room, giving it a seamless look." Yeah but, azulejos tiles also control temperature and are whole lot prettier.

Lady in red (and in azulejos tiles)